Comes the Dawn
by Astraia
Summary: [COMPLETE] "Oh- but Potter, I do understand," said Moody, his voice almost bemused. There was a grim smile playing on his lips. "I am an auror, boy. Perhaps I understand loss and death better than most people alive."


**Author's Note: **This story takes place the summer after OOTP. After living at Privet Drive for the beginning of summer, Harry is relocated to dwell at Grimmauld Place. And he is less than happy to stay there... Enjoy and review.

**Comes the Dawn**

_Let the rain come down and wash away my tears  
Let it fill my soul and drown my fears  
Let it shatter the walls for a new sun  
A new day has come_

Someone was walking towards him, someone with a wooden leg thumping loudly at every step. The sound stopped a few feet behind Harry. He turned around and acknowledged the intruder with a brisk nod.

"Professor Moody."

"I'm not so sure about the professor part," grunted Moody in a rough voice.

Harry didn't reply. He continued staring emotionlessly out the window… into the darkness.

"You don't like staying here do you?" asked Moody gruffly, gesturing vaguely to the surroundings.

Harry was silent again. "No," he replied slowly, "I s'pose not."

That was true. He did not fancy staying at Grimmauld Place at all. Not after the death of Sirius… This was the house that his godfather had resented so much— a place that brought back painful memories for Sirius. Indeed, Harry did not enjoy being trapped here. _Everything_ in this house was a reminder of his godfather, from the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black to the wretched house-elf, Kreacher.

_Kreacher_… how he hated Kreacher. Harry didn't care what Dumbledore said about the tormented soul. There was just no way he could ever forgive Kreacher for lying and for causing the death of his only remaining family member. Harry wanted to throttle Kreacher every time he saw the house-elf.

The hatred within him was bubbling out of control again.

"Have you slept at all, Potter?"

"What?" his head snapped up suddenly at the sound of Moody's voice. "Er… well, no, sir." He couldn't find the strength to make up a lie. Not in front of the old auror anyway.

Moody seemed satisfied with the answer.

"Um... Prof— sir, if you don't mind me asking. What are you doing here at this hour?"

It was a reasonable question. After all, five in the morning was a questionable time to show up at someone's house.

Moody surveyed Harry for a few moments. His magical eye and normal eye both rested on Harry, who felt the strange sensation of being mind read.

"Remus Lupin and I were supposed to meet here," Moody finally replied. "I was going to deliver a few reports to him in the morning. But I was restless through the night so I came early— and I can see now that I was not the only one." His magical eye danced slightly in its socket.

In spite of himself, Harry blushed and turned away.

After awhile, he wasn't sure how long, Harry felt a rough hand rest on his shoulder. He looked up surprisingly at Moody.

"It's hard for you isn't it?"

This was the last thing Harry expected. Scorn and some scolding perhaps, but never sympathy. And somewhere beneath Moody's growling voice, Harry heard it.

"You haven't had much happiness in your life, have you Potter?" persisted Moody, ignoring Harry's shocked face.

The experienced auror shook his head, scars clearly visible on his worn face. For a fleeting moment, Harry thought Moody looked older and more exhausted than ever.

"Parents gone at a young age… sent to relatives who cared nothing for you…" Moody plunged on, not giving any indication to Harry's silence. "Then finally, you are told the truth about your heritage and your world. But not the whole truth… Still, you think you've at last found happiness. You took many risks, yes, but underneath it all, there was life. You had Weasley and Granger," he paused, "and you had Sirius."

Then, Moody laughed humorlessly. It was a faint and almost ironic laughter.

"But darkness followed you everywhere, my boy! The Dark Lord and his servants— his _wrath_, would simply not leave you alone. But you didn't feel completely alone then and there did you, Potter?"

Harry stared at him. Slowly, he shook his head.

"That Weasley boy and the nice Muggle-born girl, Granger," Moody answered for him. "And later, you met a kind professor with a connection to your father and an understanding godfather to join the circle."

Harry winced at the mention of Sirius.

"Tell me, Potter," said Moody emotionlessly. "How does it feel after experiencing a true loss? Not counting your parents— you were too young then. And not counting Diggory either, for he was never extremely close to you… Tell me, Potter, how does it feel? Do you feel guilty? Angry and betrayed? Nothingness?"

Harry glared at him. He didn't want Moody standing before him, bluntly pointing out facts of his life.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said loudly. "You wouldn't understand."

He felt the grasp tighten on his shoulder. He wriggled slightly but Moody did not let go.

"Oh- but Potter, I do understand," said Moody, his voice almost bemused. There was a grim smile playing on his lips. "I am an auror, boy. Perhaps I understand loss and death better than most people alive."

It was strange when Moody pointed it out. Harry looked at the older man with a strange kind of curiosity.

"I didn't think…" mumbled Harry.

Moody held up a swift hand to cut him off.

"Most people don't consider," he answered abruptly. "Most people don't understand exactly what is at stake to work as an auror. Don't know what is behind the dueling, Dark Wizard catching, and pride…"

Harry pondered for a moment, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say. Finally he decided that Moody would understand.

"Sir, I think—" but the ambition was building along with his sentence. "I mean, I _want_ to be an auror," he corrected himself.

To his surprise, Moody smiled his grim smile again.

"It is an honorable line of work," he said. "The satisfaction of accomplishment could be such a thrill sometimes, Potter."

Then Moody's gnarled hand reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

"Recognize this, Potter?" he asked, holding up the photograph.

It would have been disbelieving if Harry said he didn't recognize it. The photograph was the same one Moody had showed him nearly a year ago, the one with the original Order of the Phoenix members. All of them smiling despite the dark times, oblivious to what would become of so many of them in the future.

Harry nodded. "You showed it to me last summer, sir."

"Amazing, isn't it?" said Moody, almost in a scoffing tone. "Look at us standing there, taking the photo, Potter. Don't we all look happy and proud? These people— most of them didn't know they would lose their souls, end up tortured or killed..."

Harry pondered Moody's words for a moment.

"Sir?" he said. "Did- did you know them well? I mean, my parents."

Moody surveyed him closely for a few seconds, almost as if thinking what to say.

"To a point, yes," he finally answered. "I've worked with them many times, Potter. They were enlightening and hard-working people."

The younger wizard waited, not satisfied with the answer.

"You should know, Potter," continued Moody, "that your parents would be very proud of you today. Lily and James were very kind and trusting people, perhaps that was their undoing and ultimate failure… But nonetheless, they were the kind of loyal people that would do anything for a friend, not unlike yourself, Potter."

"A lot of good it did them. And me," Harry added bitterly with an afterthought.

"In dark times, you had better be able to convince others you were worth protecting or you'd end up dead pretty fast," agreed Moody. "Trusting the wrong people gets you in a mighty sticky spot too."

"So did- did you know Peter Pettigrew?"

"Ah... yes, Peter," said Moody, a grim smile on his lips. "Yes, Potter, in fact I did know him. Pettigrew was not the most courageous, nor the most talented, but he was useful in his own way..."

_"Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they'd use a weak, talentless thing like you..."_

Those were Sirius's exact words… Harry felt a burst of uncharacteristic anger rise inside him.

"Did you ever suspect him? Why didn't anyone ever suspect him?" demanded Harry angrily.

Moody's real eye narrowed. "I suspected everyone, Potter. But I did not truly believe he would work for the Dark Lord. That was where Dumbledore and I made an oversight. You see, Pettigrew was such a weak person, without much resilience at all. Yet his friends never suspected any dark activity from him. Looking back now, I can see how obvious it was... so obvious, if only we had looked harder, searched deeper..." Moody's voice trailed off.

"Everyone suspected Professor Lupin," said Harry grudgingly. "Sirius told me."

_"Remus!" Pettigrew squeaked, turning to Lupin instead, writhing imploringly in front of him. "You don't believe this... Wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan?"_

_"Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter," said Lupin. "I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?" he said casually over Pettigrew's head._

_"Forgive me, Remus."_

"Being a werewolf does arouse suspicions in the modern day society," Moody replied casually. "Not all werewolves are harmless, Potter... However, Black was simply looking in the wrong direction. If he had turned his head just a little bit, he would have realized that it was not Lupin at all."

Harry looked thoroughly discouraged.

"What if—" began Harry but Moody cut him off abruptly.

"No, Potter," he growled. "I don't want to hear any 'what ifs'. What if Sirius remained the Secret-Keeper? Would he be dead but your parents alive instead? Would the Dark Lord have been in power all those years? What if Peter was caught and convicted? What if you were just a normal boy?"

"No, Potter," he repeated, shaking his marred face. "It's no use, Potter. Let it go. What has past is past and we cannot dwell on it. In all these years I've been an auror, if I listed all the 'what ifs', I would have gone through three lifetimes and still I would not have finished listing them."

Once again, Harry was silent.

"But he doesn't deserve to live," said Harry angrily.

Moody bent down so that he and Harry were now face to face. Harry looked uneasily into Moody's weathered face.

"And so do many others who still live. They will get theirs, I promise you, Potter. They always do. And many of those dead deserve to live. However, that is not for us to decided, Potter."

Suddenly, a thought flashed through Harry's mind. He remembered! "Sir," he blurted, "What was that veil in the Department of Mysteries?"

Moody seemed to contemplate for a few moments.

"An experiment," he replied slowly. The tone of his voice was carefully stable. "The Department of Mysteries have been studying the aspect of death for the longest time. There have been quite a lot of studies concerning the veil. So far, it has been concluded that whatever goes beyond the veil will never come back."

Moody wouldn't laugh if he told him, would he?

"I heard voices behind the veil," said Harry. "I heard them whispering... It was a kind of, ancient melody, almost."

Moody stared at him.

"Voices indeed, Potter?" he asked curiously. "This is very interesting... for those beyond the veil do not speak for just anyone. Not everyone can hear them, Potter. Yet you said you could?"

Harry nodded.

"It is the dead you hear beyond the veil," explained Moody. "Dumbledore may tell you more about the veil, Potter. But for now, try to put it to rest... put it out of your mind..."

Harry looked silently at Moody but did not argue.

"_You_ are very much alive, Potter," said Moody suddenly. "Wouldn't you like to do something useful in your future?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, staring at Moody with a new kind of light.

The weathered auror smiled wryly. "'He who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat'," quoted Moody.

Harry racked his brain, he was sure he had heard that from somewhere else. A vague memory from his muggle schooling days came back.

"Theodore Roosevelt, 1910, 'The Man in the Arena'," said Moody, interrupting his thoughts. Then an almost bemused look appeared on his face. "Dumbledore's bad influence must be rubbing off on me— especially when I start quoting muggles." He gave a barking laugh.

"But never mind, Potter," he said, turning serious once more. "The point is that this muggle president said a few things I myself value; such as spending ourselves in a worthy cause."

Harry nodded slowly. "I think I understand."

"Sir, you said being an auror— well you said you understood losses and death. Then... have you lost someone to Voldemort?" Harry felt unsure at his own daring.

"Yes, Potter, I have," said Moody quietly. He peered down at Harry; his real eye sparkled slightly. "Several members of my family were victims of the Dark Lord and his servants."

"I'm sorry... I didn't know," said Harry, looking away from Moody's gaze.

When Moody did answer, Harry resumed looking out the hazy window. The darkness outside seemed to be fading. A line of light along the horizon was becoming more and more visible, washing out the darkness. It was morning.

"Look, Potter," commanded Moody in a low voice. He pointed at the sun, rising in the distance. "Another new day."

Harry didn't know if it was the result of the conversation with Moody, or the anticipation of a new beginning, but strangely, he felt his heart rise several inches as he watched the sunrise.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder once again. Harry looked up and to his surprise, Moody was smiling. But this was a true smile, not a wry or ironic smile, nor a grim smile. Harry felt his respect for the old auror soar to new heights.

"I think now at last we understand each other, Mr. Potter," growled Moody, still smiling.

Then, something happened that Harry had anticipated ever since his visit to Dumbledore's office and ever since Sirius's death. Something that he should have done long ago but just couldn't do it. However, when he looked at Moody's scarred face… into the pains and satisfactions that showed in Moody's non-magical eye, Harry felt an uncontrollable surge of emotion. It was something that he would have least wanted to do in front of Moody… but this time, Harry felt that Moody wouldn't hold it against him.

And ever so slowly, a single tear slid down Harry's cheek. But it was followed by more tears… each carrying the immense surges of misery, anger, guilt, and other emotions that he had carried inside him since Sirius's death. It was time for Harry to let them go.

After all, he and Moody were on the same page. Of all the people who could offer him support or understanding, Moody would probably have been on Harry's least likely list. But there are surprises every day…

When Harry opened his mouth and was about to say something, he was interrupted by sharp knocks on the door from downstairs.

"Ah... that must be Lupin," Moody said pleasantly, winking slightly at Harry.

He gestured to the young wizard. "Shall we go down and meet him?"

Harry stood there, unmoving, as his heart was still heavy.

"I am sure Lupin will be willing to answer a few of your questions, Harry," said Moody encouragingly.

Harry nodded and followed Moody downstairs. Before he left, Harry took one last look out the window. He rubbed his eyes furiously; there wasn't any darkness, only the bright sunshine.

* * *

Later that summer, Alastor Moody walked into the Ministry of Magic, seeking fellow comrade, Kingsley Shacklebolt. The busy auror looked up from his work.

"Ah! Mad-Eye," he greeted him pleasantly. "What brings you here?"

"An important business," Moody replied shortly. "'Dung's gone off the hook again and he won't be able to do his guard duty." He paused. "I told Dumbledore I'm not some guardian angel who takes pleasure in chasing after sixteen-year-old lads."

Shacklebolt raised an amused eyebrow. "All right, Mad-Eye, I can do it."

"Good, good," muttered the old auror triumphantly. "I have to leave now. Minerva needs my humble service in convincing Snape to take on the new mission. Stubborn bastard." They both chuckled at this.

But before Moody could leave, he was interrupted abruptly.

"How's Harry taking this special treatment?" asked Shacklebolt casually. "He wasn't too thrilled last year."

Moody's mouth twitched and he stopped to reflect for a moment.

"Actually, he hasn't complained," he admitted, smiling at Shacklebolt's expression. "I think the boy has grown up and taken a perspective pill."

"Indeed, indeed..." murmured Shacklebolt. "I certainly don't envy him."

Moody nodded shortly and bid him farewell. Limping out of the building and growling characteristically at several nosy busybody ministry workers, Moody was thinking intently. It was true that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was growing up and accepting more of Dumbledore's ways, even if he didn't always like them. After all, he himself, Moody thought admittingly, hadn't tried to feign understanding of the old man's reasons.

One thing for sure, he would never call Potter a kid again.****


End file.
